


Always You

by blu_dreaming_skies



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, One Shot, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blu_dreaming_skies/pseuds/blu_dreaming_skies
Summary: Dream dethrones George. They try to have a conversation about it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 21





	Always You

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this here from Tumblr @dreamskies-pictures. We'll see how this goes. This work is based on the Dream SMP role-play, and the characters featured are those from that story.

“You have no face behind that mask, no soul-”

_No face_ _:_ a fact. One couldn’t really call the swirling mass of jade, emerald, and smoke forming his head a ‘face.’ Featureless and ever-changing, held in place solely by the smiling ivory mask. George was right about that.

_No soul_ _:_ …well, that depended on what one defined as a soul.

Dream was alive. If life, the beating of the strange, slimy thing in his chest and the filling of the sacs with air as he inhaled- details of the human body recreated to the best of his knowledge- was what made a soul, then Dream had a soul.

Dream was moral. If morals, the stinging and burning of the dense clouds that shaped his 'flesh’ when someone weak was hurt, was something _his_ was hurt, was what made a soul, then Dream had a soul.

Dream was loving. If love, the ache in his core when his friends cried and the warmth that lit up his body with stars when they were happy, was what made a soul, then Dream had a soul.

If hate and anger and pain was what made a soul, then Dream had a soul.

So, it seemed George was wrong about that.

“You’re- you’re selfish! Sapnap and I, we were beside you when you created this world, it was us! It’s always been us!”

_It’s always been me._

“Do you care about that? Does that- doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

_Don’t I mean anything to you?_

“You promised us it all, Dream, you made so many promises… but they never meant anything.”

_I’m not satisfied with what you’ve given me._

“Just pretty words to keep us at your beck and call. That’s all that matters, right?”

_We’re not enough. I don’t believe you when you try to tell me otherwise._

He let George rant. The sooner it was out of his system, the better. At least they had progressed from arguing in front of a crowd (though Dream would bet George preferred the attention) to a discussion in private behind castle walls.

Eret’s castle walls. Honestly, Dream hadn’t anticipated the changing of kings to be such a fuss. George had been disinterested in power since the 'creation of the world’, as he said. Now all of sudden this shifting of roles was an unforgivable betrayal. Even if it made perfect sense. Even if it made George safer.

Really, the position of Head Knight would only give George more agency, without the pressure of neutrality, without a target on his back, with training and armor and weapons and the entire guard at his command-

“-You’re not even listening to me! You never listen to me! Ever since the first rebellion, you… you haven’t listened to a single thing Sapnap or I have said. You do everything yourself, you make these wild decisions and declarations without talking to us!”

“You never asked me to, George.” He finally said, eternal patience somewhat less eternal. “You and Sapnap have been content to follow everything I say and let me do all the thinking. This is the first time you’ve spoken up against me.” And the last, ideally.

’ _Ever since the first rebellion_ ’ Dream has had to… become a touch more strict. Tighten his grip on the realm. How else was he supposed to strike back against drug cartels and pointless violence? The country of _L'Manburg_ , the seat of this _corruption_ infesting his land… how else was he supposed to control it?

His friends, the companions to his soul (which he was sure he had now), never challenged him. They saw what he saw, thought what he thought, perfectly in tune after all these years. Was that a lie? Was their friendship truly built on intimidation, greed, ambition? Had they settled into the spots at his sides just to stand on his pedastal overlooking the world they called 'theirs’?

No, no. George was just being petty and whiny. It was the 'principle’ of the thing to him, right? Dream had given him a shiny new toy and then taken it away. You know, because said toy happened to be covered in spikes. Dream steeled himself.

“ _Shouldn’t it have been a given?!_ You raise a kingdom from the ground up with someone, fight side by side with your life, giving complete trust to that person- is expecting them to value your opinion such an outrageous thing?” George’s voice raised even more, his fists shaking. They must be able to hear him from outside. “Expecting them to value your rank, to respect you, to treat you as an equal? To not treat you like a disposable piece in some stupid game of chess?!”

Dream really, really wanted to sigh. He’d prefer this to be over now. Hadn’t he already explained himself, repeating his reasoning over and over? ’ _To protect you, because you joined another faction, because you couldn’t keep the peace._ ’ But no. He had to sit through all this because George decided to utterly misinterpret him.

“I am. Literally doing this. Because you are not disposable.” Maybe George would understand if he said it slower. “I happen to like you. I do not want you to die. I don’t have much of an opinion on whether Eret lives or dies at this point. He is disposable.”

Eret had less enemies than Dream or George, so an assassination wasn’t as likely- still, if anyone had to be murdered, he’d rather it not be one of his friends. And Eret was _fine_. They were a fine king. There wasn’t much competition. If she didn’t destroy sacred trees or join any rouge micro-nations, then she was already an improvement. But George wouldn’t like to hear that part.

“Go to hell, Dream,” George said, which is not what Dream expected him to say.

Could Dream even go to hell, if a hell existed in the layers of realms? Was the Nether a hell? Did George want something from the Nether? No, no, go back… Dream had a soul (he’d determined this earlier) so if you defined a 'hell’ as a realm which souls were transported to after they died… then technically he could, if something managed to kill him. He highly doubted that would happen.

He decided to gloss over the 'wicked souls go to hell’ bit, for George’s sake.

“What?” Came Dream’s reply, frankly lost. Had he said the part about Eret out loud? Was George somehow offended by Dream saying his life mattered?

“It’s always all about you, isn’t it?”

This, again, was a surprise. Of course it was about him. It was _his_ realm. It was about him and his friends and his kingdom and his citizens. Surely that made sense to anyone.

When Dream didn’t answer right away, George gave a scoff with a bitter smirk and claimed a victory, turning on his heel to the castle exit.

Dream didn’t tell him to wait, to stop, didn’t scream at him to shut up and calm down and come back.

He just let him leave.


End file.
